


of certain certainties

by heartwasalegend



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/F, Spoilers for 5x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartwasalegend/pseuds/heartwasalegend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“They told us to find a tether,” Shaw goes on. “Something we knew to be true. It would help us figure out what was real and what wasn’t.”</em>
</p><p>Shaw figures out what's real and what isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of certain certainties

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 5x04. Warnings: implied/non-graphic simulated suicide, simulated character death. I'll update the tags once it feels safe to do so without spoiling the episode.

**Simulation 1**

“Whoever’s back there, kick over your weapon and I’ll let you keep full mobility.”

Shaw feels her pulse jump at the familiar lilt, feels the side of her mouth curl up in a grin. She swipes the gun across the floor with a nudge of her foot and eagerly clocks the heavy footfall of heeled boots. She traces the long, clean lines of Root’s body until their eyes lock.

“Shaw.”

Shaw exhales a laugh. “Not a very friendly homecoming.”

The gun in Root’s hand hits the floor as she closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Shaw in vice grip.

“Baby, it’s really you,” Root says, voice wavering. She lets out a sharp sob and digs her fingers hard in to Shaw’s skin. She pulls back and leans in to press their lips together.

It’s wrong. Shaw knows it’s wrong from the second their mouths meet.

She laughs when Root goes to deepen the kiss; shoves her away by the shoulder.

“Really?” she looks upwards and casts her arms wide. “This is the best you can do?”

“Sweetie, what – “ Root is weeping openly now.

“How can I break this to you gently?” Shaw laughs. “You’re not real, Root.”

Root shakes her head, face twisting in pain. “Of course I’m real, Sameen. How could you say that?”

Shaw rolls her eyes and turns away, instinctively seeking out a camera. She disabled them, but she has a feeling it doesn’t matter. She picks up Root’s gun and holds it to her own head.

“You’re gonna have to do better than this.”

The world around her dissolves in to white.

 

 

 

**Simulation 53**

She comes to on a moving subway. The lights flicker off and on. She can hear John and Root talking in hushed voices. A gnawing pain settles at the base of her skull when she turns her head to hear better.

“Root,” she rasps. Root turns, crouches down next to her but doesn’t touch her.

“They got in my head,” she adds, turning to show the bandage.

“I know,” Root says. “We’re going to take care of that for you.”

Shaw huffs out a laugh. “We’re on a moving subway.”

“Wanted women can’t be choosers,” Root replies. She gestures to John before backing away, taking a seat across the car.

“Sorry, Shaw,” John says, flicking open a hunting knife. “This may sting a bit.”

“Wait,” Shaw says, “Wait.”

She looks over at Root, who is steadfastly refusing to meet her gaze.

“Samantha,” she tries.

Root glances up. “What is it, sweetie?”

Shaw laughs, pushes herself up to sit.

“Can I borrow your gun?” she asks, tone mocking.

“Shaw, we need to get that chip out of your skull,” John mutters. “It’s not safe to take you to the Machine.”

“John,” Shaw replies. “The second I get my hands on a gun I’m either shooting you or myself. That mostly depends on how long it takes for you to hand yours over. Either way, we’re done here.”

John sighs. Hands her his gun.

"Keep working on those tells, Greer," Shaw says, sparing a last glance at Root and John. "You'll get there."

 

 

 

**Simulation 625**

“You should get some rest. You’ve had a rough couple of days.”

Shaw curls in tighter on herself and listens as Root’s footsteps retreat behind her. She waits the length of a breath before silently righting herself. Her feet hit the floor and she waits for any sign of Root’s return. When she’s sure she’s alone she slips through the door to Root’s bathroom.

She runs her fingers along the sink, rubs the dust she finds between her thumb and forefinger thoughtfully.

The medicine cabinet behind the mirror is mostly empty, save for a well-worn toothbrush and a few stray toiletries. Shaw plucks out the toothbrush and brushes her thumb along the bristles as she reads the label on a bottle of face wash. She replaces the toothbrush carefully and shuts the cabinet.

The drawers are empty. Shaw looks up at herself in the mirror for a long moment before turning away.

 

The low light in the kitchen doesn’t give Shaw much to work with. The countertops are dark and cold against her hands. They’ve been meticulously wiped clean. The first drawer she opens yields a spatula, three mixing spoons and a carving knife. She makes her way over to the refrigerator and tugs open the door.

The shelves are well-stocked. Milk, white wine and cranberry juice on the top shelf. Tomatoes in the crisper. Cheese and deli meats in the drawer on the left. No fruit.

“Sameen?”

Shaw exhales through her nose and turns. Root is edging her way around the perimeter of the room.

“Are you hungry, sweetie?” she asks. “Can I make you something to eat?”

Shaw can’t help it. She laughs.

“You learned to cook?” she asks.

Root smirks in Shaw’s direction. “A girl’s gotta eat,” she says, giving Shaw a palpable once over.

“Right,” Shaw replies, swinging the refrigerator door closed. “You know what? I could really use a sandwich. Would you mind?”

Root smiles. “Of course. Why don’t you go lie down for a bit? I’ll bring it in to you.”

Shaw nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

Root catches her wrist as she turns to go. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she says, tugging on Shaw’s arm until she can drop a kiss to Shaw’s cheek.

Shaw catches herself leaning in to it and wrapping an arm around the small of Root's back. She lets out a sigh and steps away as Root releases her grip. 

Root's gun burns cold where it’s tucked in her waistband.

 

 

 

**Simulation 1,532**

They’ve been walking for close to an hour. She has a feeling this is not what Root had in mind when she suggested a field trip.

“Shaw, are you sure this is the right way?” Root’s voice has been pitching up in agitation for the last few blocks.

Shaw turns down an alleyway, cutting across to hug the building on her right.

“They might be on our tail,” Shaw mutters, peering around the next corner. “I’m taking us the long way.”

Root grabs her shoulder and pulls her around. “There’s no one following us. The Machine would have told us.”

Shaw takes in the flush in Root’s cheeks and the eager, manic glint in her eye.

Shaw nods. “We’re close. We’ll make a break for it.”

“Right behind you,” Root says, nodding for Shaw to go first.

Shaw glances around the corner again. Their path is clear.

 

She leads them across the street and ducks between a gap in a row of hedges. Her shirt snags on a branch for a moment before giving. She turns in time to see Root snap the offending twig between her fingers as she steps out in to the clearing.

“This way,” Shaw says, stalking off towards a patch of light visible through a knot of trees.

“Shaw,” Root says, “What is this place?”

Shaw doesn’t answer. She makes her way through the sandbox, ducks under the monkey bars and pulls up short when she hits the merry-go-round.

“Shaw,” Root repeats and Shaw turns to look at her.

“There was a merry-go-round on the base in Qatar,” Shaw says, wrapping one hand around the cool metal. “I hated it. Couldn’t stand the feeling.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Root replies, tone urgent.

“One day I woke up, went straight for it,” Shaw goes on, taking an unsteady step up. The metal shifts and groans under her weight. “Rode it all day. Wouldn’t come in for lunch or dinner. I have never been so sick in my entire life.”

Shaw stares at Root. Searches for something in her face.

“Do you know why I did that?”

Root shakes her head, takes a half step towards her.

Shaw closes her eyes for a second, and then opens them with a curt nod. “Root does.”

She barely feels the nudge of the barrel against her temple. She knows it well enough by now.

 

 

 

**Simulation 3,880**

Shaw’s eyes are getting heavy. The drift of Root’s fingertips along her spine is the only thing keeping her conscious. Root is mumbling something about an Atari. Her voice is light, but Shaw can read something deeper laced through her words. It’s soothing and familiar, even as she registers the sound of it as pain.

“They scarred my beautiful girl.”

Shaw’s eyes snap open. Root’s face is as calm as she’s ever seen it. Her fingers continue their slow path, tripping along raised ridges of flesh.

“They – “ Shaw begins, voice hoarse. “They’re all from before. From working the relevant numbers with the ISA.”

Roots fingers still over a particularly large knot of scar tissue running along her ribs.

“Samaritan’s torture was more psychological.”

Roots eyebrows furrow in concern and Shaw hates it. She shifts, nudging Root on to her back. Her knees fall on either side of Root’s narrow hips. Shaw runs a hand down the smooth, unmarked skin of Root’s left shoulder.

“I missed you,” Root breathes, hips twitching upwards almost imperceptibly. “I missed you.”

Shaw nods and leans down and kisses her until the memories dragging at the corners of her mind subside.

 

Later, when Root is asleep, Shaw looks at herself in the bathroom mirror. She turns and cranes her neck to look over her shoulder.

There’s a whisper of something surfacing in her head. A flash of dim motel room lighting and Root’s fingertips at her ribs and Root’s laugh. Shaw fights it down, brings something new forward to hide it. A merry-go-round in the dark.

The room spins in kind. Her stomach turns over and she tastes bile. The lights flicker and she’s never been so grateful for the weight of a gun in her hand.

 

 

 

**Simulation 4,891**

She finds Root at the gun locker.

“You know,” she says, catching a glimpse of neon demolition block before Root turns to face her. “I’m not tired.”

She steps forward and watches Root’s posture shift. Her eyes go dark and Shaw feels a flush of arousal sing through her blood at the sight of it.

“It’s hard to imagine both of us getting out of this in one piece.”

Root’s answering smirk is quick and devastating. Her response is flippant, but the colour in her cheeks gives her away. She reaches for Shaw, pulls her close by the side of her neck and Shaw twists before their mouths meet.

She missed this. The push and pull of it. The feeling that her body was meant for this. She wrenches Root’s shoulders around; pulls her closer.

The tension in Root’s muscles bleeds through Shaw’s fingertips where they dig in to her biceps.

“Shaw,” she murmurs, breath spilling hot against Shaw’s skin.

Shaw brings her hands up to grasp at the sides of Root’s face. She holds her there for a moment, watching her expression shift a little with every breath.

Shaw walks her backwards and presses her up against the brick wall. Her fingers trail back, pushing Root’s hair away from her face, and tucking it behind her ears.

She feels it then. The hard jut of skull behind her right ear. She presses their mouths together, moans in to the kiss, and runs her fingers back and forth over Root’s skin. She does the same behind her left ear.

Nothing. Nothing.

She wants to laugh. She sinks her teeth in to swell of Root’s lower lip instead.

The relief that anchors in her chest has nothing to do with the press of Root’s fingers between her legs. The gun in the locker can wait.

 

 

 

**Simulation 5,042**

“Hey,” Root says, eyes wide and clear, even in the dark. “Stay here with me.”

There’s a war raging outside the confines of this room, being fought by people Shaw would very much like to save, or see bleed, as the case may be. It’s tempting, though. To stay here and let Root do her level best to narrow the world down to this.

“You know, I couldn’t stand you when we first met.”

Root’s mouth quirks up at the corner and she presses in a little tighter, tethering Shaw’s body with a palm to her back.

Shaw sweeps a hand upwards and pushes Root’s hand away from where it rests at her ear. She presses her own in its place. She traces the delicate shell of her ear with her index finger before drifting to run along the dip behind it.

Something in her chest drops out at the feeling of puckered skin. A scar that’s old and new at the same time.

“No,” she whispers. “Root, no.”

“Sameen, what is it?”

Shaw presses down against the ridges of the cochlear implant. She feels sick. White-hot light sears through her mind as the simulation starts to fray at the edges.

“What did I do?”

“Hey,” Root says, catching Shaw’s hand in her own and pulling it away. “What’s wrong?”

Shaw sucks in a breath that ricochets painfully through her body. She leans forward and presses her mouth against Root’s, sharp and desperate. She feels the sting of tears at the seam of her eyelids.

Root pushes at her shoulders. Shaw stares back across the space Root makes between them. There’s pity on her face. She knows what Shaw showed them.

She kisses Root again and lets the simulation run on and on and on.

 

 

 

**Simulation 6,068**

They’re getting close. She knows the buildings crowding this street. She smiles.

Root is keeping pace just behind her, head on a swivel. They’re running for their lives but this feels right. She missed this.

“Not far now,” Shaw says, glancing back.

Root nods, casts a practiced eye around them. “I think we’re clear.”

Shaw pauses. Root waits.

“You know, I’m the better shot,” Shaw says, an edge of pleading stitching through her voice. “You lead the way. I’ll watch our six.”

Root doesn’t move. Shaw waits. She thinks she could probably wait forever. She needs Root to move to know for sure.

A gunshot rings out from an alley to their left she doesn’t remember passing. Root falls.

“Root!”

She takes out the two agents spilling out of the mouth of the alley with ease. Her knees collide with the pavement next to Root’s shoulder. She hauls her up. “We gotta get you out of here.”

Root lets out a wet-sounded cough. “We’re so close. Take me to the Machine.”

“You need a doctor, idiot.” Shaw says, half-dragging Root away from the main thoroughfare.

Root laughs. “I have a doctor right here. Harold has a med kit. You could stitch me up.”

“Stay here,” Shaw says, pressing Root to lean up against the side of a building.

There’s a door to their left. She gives it a few hard shoves with her shoulder. It doesn’t budge. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Root slump down the wall.

“Come here,” Shaw urges, pulling Root up to sit. “Let me see.”

“There’s no time, Shaw,” Root says. There’s blood on her teeth. “We need to get to the Machine.”

Shaw stares at her. Shakes her head.

“You know, when I was training with the ISA. They taught us what to do if we were ever captured. If they ever tried to brainwash us.”

Root coughs again, and she struggles to say something. She can’t support the weight of her head anymore so Shaw pulls her down, settles her in the cradle of her lap.

“They told us to find a tether,” Shaw goes on. “Something we knew to be true. It would help us figure out what was real and what wasn’t.”

Root’s eyes flicker closed. Shaw runs a thumb over her right eyebrow.

“I think I’m running out,” Shaw says, a bitter laugh crawling up her throat. “I think I’ve given them everything true about you.”

She looks down at the gun in her hand.

“See you soon.”

 

 

 

**Simulation 6,741**

“Looks like today’s your lucky day,” Shaw says, uncurling her grip on the gun and tossing it aside.

The Samaritan agent before her takes her in with a grim expression. “Orders said to bring you back. They didn’t say to bring you back alive.”

A gunshot sings through the air.

Shaw closes her eyes and waits.


End file.
